


darth spidey

by hailingstars



Series: we're all gonna be okay (whumptober 2020) [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Orphan Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Stabbing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars
Summary: He didn’t stop until the oddly familiar sound of mechanical, rhythmic breathing filled the small, dark room. Tony couldn’t place the noise until his eyes landed on what was making it, a Darth Vader mask planted on the face of who he could only assume was Spider-Man.Tony let out a breath, then a low chuckle.He’d never been kidnapped by Darth Vader before, or more like, by a child wearing a Halloween costume, but he supposed it wasn’t all that strange. As long as his heart was still ticking there would always be new lows for him to sink to.“Hey baby Darth,” said Tony, letting his hands go limp in the webs. “Mind letting me out of this?”ORTony gets kidnapped by Spider-Man disguised as Darth Vader, which turns out to be a big mistake for Peter Parker, who's just trying to stay under the radar to avoid the attention of CPS.whumptober days 1 + 2, waking up restrained + in the hands of the enemy
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: we're all gonna be okay (whumptober 2020) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947928
Comments: 80
Kudos: 558





	1. a child wearing a halloween costume

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blondsak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/gifts).



> so October is here and I have no idea what I'm doing, so I hope you're ready for the ride :) :)
> 
> this fic is gifted to blondsak as a late birthday present <3 the fandom wouldn't be the same without her and her wonderful fics <3

A bead of sweat dripped from Tony’s soaked hair, and that was the final straw.

Slowly it slipped down his cheek. Slowly Tony lost his mind.

Out of reflex, and out of the frustration building and boiling and eating away at him, he struggled with his whole strength to free his hands from the substance that had them stuck together and pinned above his head, against the wall.

The logical part of Tony’s brain knew this struggling was all in vain. His hands were stuck by the same substance he’d been in the lab studying with Bruce a couple of weeks ago, just after the Avengers had decided to target Spider-Man. Tony struggled anyway, despite knowing the chemical makeup of the fake webs were stronger than his arms, struggled to express his rage at being in this situation without his armor and without a way to call it to him.

He didn’t stop until the oddly familiar sound of mechanical, rhythmic breathing filled the small, dark room. Tony couldn’t place the noise until his eyes landed on what was making it, a Darth Vader mask planted on the face of who he could only assume was Spider-Man.

Tony let out a breath, then a low chuckle.

He’d never been kidnapped by Darth Vader before, or more like, by a child wearing a Halloween costume, but he supposed it wasn’t all that strange. As long as his heart was still ticking there would always be new lows for him to sink to.

“Hey baby Darth,” said Tony, letting his hands go limp in the webs. “Mind letting me out of this?”

The kid stared at him, and the room became silent again, with the exception of the breathing noises coming from the mask. Tony stared back, watched the Spider-Kid fight himself over what to do with his arms. He crossed them, then uncrossed them, then outstretched one arm to point a shaky finger at Tony, only to quickly fold his arms back together again.

“First time kidnapping someone?” Tony guessed out loud, but Darth Spidey ignored his question.

“Stop chasing Spider-Man,” said Spider-Man. His voice came out robotic, emotionless, but deep and authoritative. A replica of the movie villain’s voice. Tony figured that was the deal with the mask. Spidey didn’t want anyone hearing his real voice.

Tony wanted to laugh again. At himself. At this situation. At this kid who was so far in over his head, at a kid who didn’t want anyone to know he was still just a kid, except Tony didn’t need to hear his whiny voice to have figured that one out already.

It had been Nat that pointed all of the bank robberies happened on weekends and evenings, same with the vigilante activities, but it’d been Tony who’d discovered that their spider wasn’t sitting behind a desk at a day job. He’d guessed, call it intuition, that they were dealing with a teenager, and now that Tony watched him up close, awkward and less confident without wearing his regular Spidey suit, he knew without a doubt.

In dark blue jeans, a navy sweater with a small hole in the shoulder, and black converse that were falling apart, he was clumsy. He was second guessing himself. Not behavior Tony associated with Spider-Boy, until now.

“Promise to stop chasing Spider-Man,” said the boy. “And… and I’ll let you outta that.”

“Sorry,” said Tony. “Can’t do it. Spidey’s a criminal. He’s dangerous.”

“What?” he asked. He took a couple of hesitant steps forward, and Tony tried imaging what his tone might be like, whether it was angry, or confused and small. He was bettering on the latter. “That’s not…” He shook his head. “No… Spider-Man’s one of the good guys… he helps people.”

“Sometimes,” said Tony. “And sometimes he robs banks.”

“Just for what he needs to get by,” he said. “Plus, robbing a bank doesn’t really hurt _real_ people. It’s barely a crime.”

“Sorta of the problem, isn’t it, Darth Spidey?” asked Tony. “People with, uh, natural abilities like you’ve got shouldn’t get to decide what’s criminal and what isn’t.”

The kid didn’t respond. His head was titled to the floor, so Tony figured he’d at least got him thinking.

“Why don’t you let me out of this crap,” said Tony, “and we can talk about what you’re gonna do from here.”

Spider-Man looked up from the floor, but it was just two pitch black plastic eyes staring up at Tony. He hoped he was right about this kid, about his good nature, because that mask didn’t betray any emotion and Tony couldn’t decide where the kid’s head was at, whether he was thinking about turning himself or bolting. 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” said the robot voice, after just a few more seconds of quiet. “I can’t do that.”

“Just wait a minute, kid – “

Tony had speech prepared, but Spider-Man was backing up. His only way out of that room was inching closer and closer to the door.

“Don’t worry. It’ll dissolve on its own! In a couple of hours!”

Spider-Man was gone just as Tony was yelling at him that he could at least turn on an air conditioner or splash him with some water.

*

“Where the hell have you been?”

This was the way Tony was greeted as he stepped into his own penthouse, with his hair and his clothes drenched with sweat.

“You look terrible,” continued Pepper. “And smell disgusting.”

He kicked off his shoes, mumbled at his fiancée about taking a shower and let water wash away his bad day and wake him up. Fresh from the shower, he took three shots of expresso while Pepper watched with both disappointment and resignation. She knew the warning signs of an all-nighter, and Tony knew not to fight her too much when she insisted he should probably eat something after his long day of being kidnapped by a child.

“We’re never having kids. I hate children,” he told her, after she coaxed him away from his computer with takeout from their favorite Indian restaurant.

“I think we already have one,” she said. “Why else would we be spending a perfectly good Friday night tracking down a teenager?”

“Revenge.”

Pepper rolled her eyes.

Tony finished his dinner and got back to the only work that mattered to him at that moment, hacking security cameras in Queens. He was determined to find a shot of Spidey taking his mask off, but after hours of pouring through footage, the best he got was the bottom part of his mask being removed so he could eat a sandwich on the top of a building.

He was about to give up, go and join Pepper in bed, when he came across the shots that had his answers.

The camera was pointed into an alley in Queens, and it appeared, from the man dying on the ground, clutching his stomach, that Spidey was too late. He landed, saw the man dead on the ground, kneeled next to him, only to stand again after checking his pulse.

Spider-Man took off his mask, revealed the face of someone much too young to be fighting crime. His brown hair floofed out, before he ran one hand through it and used the another to grip the brick building nearby to keep from falling over.

Tony pressed pause and zoomed in on a boy in the middle of a clear panic attack, and almost felt guilty when he copied the image and plugged it into a database that gave him a name immediately.

The name Peter Parker flashed across his screen, along with a school picture and an address.

He spent the next few hours learning all he could about the Spider-Boy, whose life turned out to be a tragedy fit for TV. Tony told himself he really was tracking him down for revenge, for the original mission to get an overpowered vigilante and bank robber off the streets, and not because he knew what it was like to be alone at fifteen.

*

“Oh shit.”

This was the way Tony was greeted as he stepped into an apartment in Queens, where the Parkers used to live as a happy family. There were still traces of that past left behind, pictures on the wall and a women’s coat hung on the back of a dining room chair, but Tony had done his research, and he knew that these days Peter Parker was the only person living here, the boy that was also left behind.

“No, it’s Tony Stark, actually, and you must be Lord Vader,” said Tony. He looked around the small apartment, trying to get a feel for the kid’s living conditions. The place was clean for an apartment kept by a teen, but all the vacuuming in the world couldn’t suck the sadness out of that place. “I gotta say, kid, this isn’t how I expected a bank robber to live.”

“I told you,” said Peter. He shut the door gently, as if he were afraid he might break it. “I only take what I need to pay the bills.”

“Most thieves aren’t that honest.”

Peter shrugged. “Guess I’m a lousy thief.”

“Yep, sure are,” said Tony, taking in the sight of Spider-Man without his mask or his suit. Knowing he was a kid and seeing it were two different scenarios entirely, and it freaked him out a little bit.

Peter Parker was undeniability a teenager, a baby. A genius one at that, clever enough to have caught Tony off guard and hold him captive for a few hours, but still naïve enough to answer the door without checking who was on the other side while wearing his pajamas. 

“Look Mr. Stark,” started Peter. He was no doubt about to launch into an explanation, but Tony didn’t need to hear it. He figured he’d already pieced together what was going on here. “I’m sorry about – “

“Nope,” said Tony, cutting him off and silencing him with a finger. “My turn to talk… I’m dying to know, how did you trick CPS into not putting you into a foster home?”

“Well, um, it wasn’t really that hard,” said Peter. “I just had a fr – I hacked into the system and deleted my case. They pretty much forgot I existed.”

“Oh.”

“Are you going to take me to some prison?”

“What?”

“You know, like some super high-tech place that holds all the weird radioactive bad guys?” asked Peter, his voice hitching up. The boy shuffled his feet around and looked down at his Star Wars socks. “Cause I can figure something out, I’ll repay – “

“-no, I’m not here to bust you. Christ you’re like twelve-years-old.”

“I’m fifteen,” said Peter, standing straighter. He crossed his arms. “And I broke the law.”

Tony narrowed his eyes and tried to figure out whose side this kid was on. “Sure, okay how about this? You get community service and seeing how you’ve served the community by webbing up muggers and car thieves, I say you’ve done your time.”

“I guess that’s fair,” said Peter, though he sounded unsure. Guilt rolled off him in waves, and Tony wondered how he survived this long robbing banks.

“Yep,” said Tony. “Now go and pack your bag.”

“But,” started Peter. His mouth moved up and down several times without any words coming out. He looked as if Tony had slapped him, as if he were a lost and confused and kicked puppy. “You _just_ said – “

“-That you’re not going to prison, yeah, but obviously you can’t stay here by yourself.”

“Why not?”

“Uh,” said Tony, thinking the answer should be clear. “Because you’re thirteen, that’s why not. Besides you’ll love it at the Tower. Lots of room, personal chefs, a pool, and most importantly, in your case, adult supervision.”

“I’m fifteen,” he repeated, angrier that time. “I want to stay here. I don’t care about pools and I don’t need supervision.”

Tony didn’t want to be there, in that moment, playing a role to this kid that he was in no way qualified to play. But there he was, and there was Peter, glaring back at him like he had been the one left stuck in a hot room the day before, waiting for spiderwebs to dissolve.

He took a breath, reminded himself he was dealing with a grieving kid, and tried to muster up the gentlest tone possible. “I’ll keep the bills here paid, okay? It can stay exactly like this, and after you turn eighteen – “

“-Oh, geez, thanks Mr. Stark,” said Peter, rolling his eyes at him. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Just go get your stuff.”

Peter continued glaring at him, and Tony thought the kid might refuse or run away or fight, but the stare down didn’t last for very long. Seconds later Peter dropped his shoulders, mumbled fine under his breath, and turned around, disappearing into a hallway that must’ve led to his bedroom.

It was silent as Tony waited in the living room for Peter to collect his stuff, and it was quiet an hour later, when Peter reappeared with a duffel bag over his shoulder, wearing jeans, the same t-shirt he’d slept in, and a Midtown High baseball cap to hide his eyes. It was silent as they left the apartment, walked down the steps and outside into the sun.

Peter didn’t speak again until after he shoved his single bag into the backseat and settled in the passenger’s side, clicking his seatbelt on. “I’m not dangerous, you know.”

“I know, kid,” said Tony, flashing back to when he’d said it. He hadn’t meant it. Just wanted a reaction.

“It’s just… I wanted my life to go on like normal,” said Peter, looking out the window and his apartment building. “Didn’t want to be uprooted and shoved into the foster care system when I can take care of myself.”

“Your life stopped being normal the second you put that mask on.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Tony started his car and pulled out on the road and tried to ignore his guilty conscience.

As he drove to the Tower with a sulky teenager and with nothing but AC/DC to fill the empty spaces, he told himself that a kid like Peter, superpowered and alone, needed cold facts instead of compassion.

Tony was more comfortable with facts than he was feelings, so he pretended like his previous statement was enough, like Peter were talking about being Spider-Man when he talked about his life going on like normal and not that his life had suddenly been turned upside down by grief.


	2. suffocating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter 2 please enjoyyyyy
> 
> this

One Month Later

Peter barreled through the double doors of the Avenger’s Tower, sprinted through the lobby, and slammed his hand against the elevator call button. He checked his watch while he waited for the light to ping, for the elevator doors to open and let him on.

“Late again, Peter?”

He turned his head and saw the receptionist smiling at him. “What’s new?”

She laughed, and Peter waved goodbye when the doors opened, and he disappeared inside. Technically he wasn’t late. Technically his feet were inside Avenger’s Tower at 7:59. Just one minute before his ridiculously unfair eight o’clock curfew, but Peter wasn’t sure if that mattered.

He wouldn’t know until the elevator took him to the common floor, and he saw the Avenger charged with checking in on him that particular night. The doors opened, Peter raced out, only to find it was Sam, Steve and Bucky standing around in the kitchen, having dinner and waiting for him.

“I was on time,” said Peter. “The elevator was slow.”

Steve frowned, looked at his own watch, then up at Peter. “Pete… it’s only two minutes after eight. It’s fine.”

Peter released the tension he held in his shoulders. “Nat said she’s set a jar of spiders in my bed next time I was late.”

“You fell for that?” asked Sam.

“She sounded really serious,” said Peter, frowning now and realizing, after having said it out loud, how ridiculous it sounded.

“Nat’s a damn liar,” added Bucky. He waved a spoon at him. “And you were forty-five minutes late when she threatened the spiders.”

“What is that you find so difficult about being on time, anyway?” asked Steve, and Peter wanted to be anywhere. Anywhere else but in the kitchen when he could feel a lecture coming on.

“He’s a teenager, Steve,” said Sam. “His prefrontal cortex isn’t developed yet.”

“Oh my god,” said Peter. He’d been hearing a lot about his underdeveloped brain the last few weeks and pointing that he technically had a higher IQ than all of them, at least when Mr. Stark wasn’t around, didn’t seem to help, ever. “I’m going to my room now.”

“Wait, Pete, you should have something for dinner.” Steve gestured to the bins of takeout littering the table.

“I’m good,” said Peter, then continued quickly, before Steve could object. “I have my internship with Mr. Stark tonight. We usually eat in the lab.”

Steve looked like he might object, at first, but after a few terrorizing seconds he nodded and Peter turned and hurried to his quarters, before any of the three of them could bring up something else he should or shouldn’t be doing.

Peter dumped his bookbag on his floor just in time to hear his phone buzz. He pulled it out of his pocket to see a text message from Mr. Stark.

_you’re late_

He took a deep breath before typing back that he was on his way.

_bring the spidey suit_

With a sigh, Peter grabbed his bookbag by the strap and put it back over his shoulder. He hovered in the hallway and gave his bed a longing look. He was tired, always tired these days. School and Spider-Man and a strict curfew and an internship didn’t leave a lot of room for rest, or for play, but he shook the tired away, backed out of the room, and headed off back towards the slow elevator.

Missing a night in the lab was unthinkable. It was the only real time he had to completely relax, without an adult hovering over him, and without his brain reminding him about Queens and what he lost.

Mr. Stark always had some challenge for him to figure out and disappear into. Some vague instructions, something to build. Peter figured he was probably trying to test his intelligence, but he didn’t mind it much. He liked having something to do with his mind and his hands, something to build with his heartache.

It smelled familiar in the lab when Peter stepped off the elevator, and when he got closer, he saw the reason sitting on the silver workstation near where Mr. Stark stood.

“You got Delmar’s?” asked Peter. He didn’t wait for the answer before pilfering through the paper fast food bag.

“Figured I’d have to try it,” said Mr. Stark. “The way you talk about it.”

“Best sandwiches in Queens.”

Peter took one out of the bag and began unwrapping it. Just a few days ago he’d eaten the same sandwich while he was out on patrol. He never got tired of Delmar’s, though, and there something about Mr. Stark thinking to get it for him that made it taste better.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Sure thing, kid,” said Mr. Stark, as Peter dig in. “I thought we could upgrade the suit tonight, give it a couple of cool new features. Like a voice changer, for starters.”

Peter grimaced and swallowed a bit unchewed bread. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Uhhh, that would be a negative, Darth Spidey, it isn’t every day the dark lord himself kidnaps you.”

“I was panicking,” said Peter, with a groan. He’d explained it to Mr. Stark a thousand times before, but it never got him anywhere, just like when he asked him to stop with the nickname. “I didn’t want – I didn’t want to be here.”

His words hung in the air, and they both knew it was true back then, but it was also true now. Peter understood he should drop this argument. There was no point in continuing to nag Mr. Stark about how he was responsible enough to live on his own, that’d he’d been just fine for three months before the Avenger’s suddenly got interested in Spider-Man.

“You certainly haven’t let it go,” said Mr. Stark. “You insult me, Parker, this place isn’t _that_ bad.”

“That’s easy for you to say because you don’t have to live here,” said Peter. “You don’t have to deal with Steve reminding you to eat – “

“-he knows what’s it’s like- “

“-to have a high metabolism,” finished Peter. _“I know_ , but I don’t need to hear about it every day. Or have Sam asking me if I need to talk, or Clint asking about homework, or Nat threatening me with Spiders.”

“You really thought she was gonna put spiders in your room?”

“That’s not the point,” said Peter, looking down at his half-eaten sandwich. It didn’t look very appetizing anymore. His temporary good mood ruined by a reminder about what wasn’t anymore and what could never be again.

And that wasn’t Mr. Stark’s fault. He didn’t ask for this conversation, and Peter hadn’t meant to bring the argument back after so many days of not mentioning how miserable he was, but it just spilled out.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark, I don’t mean to get… upset, it’s just so _suffocating_ , I – I can take care of myself.”

Mr. Stark fought himself over what to do with his arm. He outstretched it, towards Peter, only to pull it back and then, finally, clamp one hand down on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed.

“It’ll get better.”

“Yeah,” said Peter, his throat heavy with doubts, his head pounding that his concerns were being ignored, again.

“Should we get to work?”

Peter nodded, and let himself get lost in another project, upgrading his suit to make it better. He appreciated being down in the lab and Mr. Stark showing him new ways to work with tech, but mostly he appreciated being able to distract his mind with a worthy challenge.

It never lasted, though.

Hours later he was up in his big, empty bedroom, with all it’s open spaces. He laid in a bed that was too big, too big like the Tower, and even, too big like the wing that housed the Avenger’s.

Life in Queens had been smartly cramped. Three people living on top of each other, talking and laughing and sharing their days, so interconnected that sometimes it seemed as if him and Ben and May were a single unit instead of three separate people.

Now it was just Peter. Alone. With all the empty spaces, with hovering adults who weren’t his family and who would never be.

*

Going to Flash’s house party was one of Peter’s best decisions, and it wasn’t just the alcohol rushing his system speaking for him. He was a couple beers, and some whiskey, and some fruity and cheap wine coolers deep, but they totally didn’t affect him. He was fine. Completely sober.

He wobbled on his feet, and MJ caught him by the shoulder. Made him right, again.

Which brought him to his best decision.

Dancing with MJ on the living room floor, where the couches had been pushed against the wall. Laughing with MJ over the music so loud Peter thought his ears might bleed. It was MJ and her clothes and her hair, and _her_. Just being there with her.

Then it was his worst decision.

It was throwing up, almost on MJ, on her shoes, something he hadn’t seen or felt coming. Then the realization that Flash’s house was spinning, and that he was drunk, and that he was on the floor, with both Ned and MJ trying to peel him up.

It seemed like some fatal and cruel flaw of the fabric of his entire universe, that Steve should constantly remind him about his high metabolism, but it did him no good when it came to High School house parties.

Ned and MJ were talking as they helped him out the door, but the music blasting from the studio rang in Peter’s ears long after they made to the sidewalk, then, very slowly and carefully down the road.

Peter didn’t remember all the steps getting back to the Tower. There was something about an Uber, something about MJ taking his wallet and finding his emergency credit card and punching the numbers into an app. But he regained some coherency as MJ guided him to the elevator and stood on the other side, where the doors would eventually separate them.

Nothing like guilt to ruin Peter’s high.

“I’m sorry, MJ,” he told her.

“Don’t be,” she said. “I had fun before all the puking…” she trailed off, just long enough for Peter to wonder if he’d thrown up more than once. “Just take care of yourself, Peter.”

“I’m trying,” said Peter. Annoyed. Not at her, but because he wasn’t allowed.

They said goodnight. The doors shut, and the elevator rumbled under his feet, before it lifted off and took him to the place he didn’t want to be.

*

It appeared, as Peter stepped off the elevator, that the Avengers had decided to have their own party. They were all gathered in the common area, lounging on the couches, and it didn’t occur to him that the objective of their party was waiting for him to come home until they, one by one, started to stare at him.

Steve stood from the couch and grimaced in his direction. “Pete… do you know what time it is?”

“I dunno,” said Peter, with a sloppy shrug. “Really late?”

“Are you drunk?” This question was fired by Bucky, and Peter couldn’t tell if he was surprised or impressed or just a little bit of both.

“It’s weird, huh. We can get drunk,” said Peter, addressing those in the room with super strength. He titled his head at Steve. “Haven’t you heard? We have a high metabolism, but we can still get wasted.”

Steve’s creased face turned into a sad frown, but Peter wasn’t feeling sympathetic. He hoped Steve had heard the razor in his tone, and hoped it cut him good.

“You might be able to get wasted, but it sure as hell isn’t happening again.”

Peter turned his head, saw that it was Clint stepping forward, Clint talking to him that way, as if he had any right to. 

“What were you thinking?” he continued. “Anything could’ve happened to you tonight… how did you even get back here, in your condition?”

“I walked,” said Peter. It was simple, to the point, and true.

“You can’t just walk around this city, drunk, with nobody looking out for you,” said Clint. “This can’t happen again. You’re grounded.”

“What?”

“For two weeks.”

“Clint,” said Steve. The two men stared at each other, before Steve added, “That’s a little harsh. He’s having a rough time.”

“What?” repeated Peter, since no was listening to him. Somehow the pity hit worse than Clint’s interrogation. “I’m not having a rough time.”

They ignored him.

“What’s the big deal, anyway?” asked Bucky, shotting Peter a small smile. “Alcohol’s legal in this decade.”

“And let’s face it, most of us were doing way worse on a Friday night when we were his age,” said Nat.

Peter felt the foreign sense of relief, that someone, at least two of them, had heard him, and were on his side, even. He opened his mouth to thank them, but his second of being seen was over and the Avengers weren’t listening to him.

They were squabbling about whether he should be grounded, and for how long, and their voices blended together, becoming one blob just as loud, but not as fun, as the music back at Flash’s house.

“OKAY,” Peter shouted, just to be heard. “If you guys figure out what’s gonna happen with my life, let me know, I’ll be in my room.”

Peter walked into his room, and his eyes landed on his open window. In that moment he made another best-worst decision, as a few things clicked together in his hazy mind.

He was still Spider-Man. Curfews were only for the chumps who abided by them, and he was still buzzed enough to enjoy the rest of his night. He just needed to do a little mandatory sleuthing and climbing first.

*

Drops of blood created a trail down the hallway in an apartment building in Queens.

Spider-Man clutched his belly as he stumbled forward, cursing the purse snatcher who’d caught him off guard and stabbed him. He ripped his mask off and dug his hand in the pocket of the hoodie he’d worn over his Spidey suit. His job wasn’t easier once he finally found the key. He struggled to get the key in the lock, then struggled with the direction it should turn.

He kept trying, even though all his insides hurt and bled. Back in that alley, after he’d been stabbed, he knew only one thing mattered, and that was getting back home, to his apartment in Queens. That was where his pain would end, that would make everything better, easy as flipping a switch.

Except after the lock turned, and the door opened, and Peter fell inside, he didn’t find the relief he hoped was there.

Instead it was empty.

Empty like his bedroom back in the Tower. Empty without Ben and May. It was dusty, dark, lonely.

Peter sucked in a breath and held it, feeling everything all at once. The hole in his stomach, the blood steeping through his suit. Even worse, the undeniable truth stabbing through his heart, that his home was gone, that this apartment was a graveyard at worse and hollow shell at its best.

The whole time he’d been angry with the Avengers for keeping him away from something that didn’t exist anymore, and now he was going to lay in the ruins of his happy life, bleeding and waiting for the painful process that was his healing factor knitting his skin back together, completely, and utterly alone.

“Pete?”

Peter jerked his up, towards the couch, where a lump shaped like Mr. Stark sat, his eyes glossy in the dark.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter gasped, still clutching his stomach, but unable to determine what was hurting him more, the stab wound or the hole his aunt and uncle left behind.

“Jesus Christ, is that _blood_?”

“Just little bit,” said Peter. “I, uh, got mildly stabbed.”

Mr. Stark stood and walked over to him, wrapped an arm around him, and helped him over to the couch.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No, don’t, just, I’ll heal on my own,” he told him. “I heal too fast for stitches, it’d just… be more trouble than it’s worth.”

The apartment went quiet enough to hear the neighbors arguing through the walls, the sirens down on the streets below, and a dog barking next door. Familiar sounds from a past life that only served to mock Peter. That what he had was gone, and it wasn’t coming back, wasn’t even in Queens anymore.

“Right,” said Mr. Stark. “You’re a super-spider. I’m gonna call Bruce and have him bring some painkillers, then, if you keep making that face I’m gonna pass out from sympathy pains.”

“Won’t work.”

“Not talking Tylenol, kid. He’ll bring the good stuff.”

“What are you doing here, Mr. Stark?” asked Peter, a wave of guilt forcing the question out.

“Well Nat called me and told me about what went down, and how you were drunk and missing. This is really the only place I’d expect to find you, although the knife wound was a surprise so good job at not being completely predictable.”

Peter chuckled, then remembered his situation. “I’m really sorry, I- “

“Nah,” Mr. Stark waved him off. “I should be the one apologizing. You tried to tell me how miserable you were, I’m just not really good at listening.”

Peter wasn’t really sure what to do with an apology, so he sat there and let the quietness settle and realized that it was nice. That he his insides were twisting and bleeding and it hurt, but Mr. Stark was there, a presence so comforting it was able to soothe some of that pain although it didn’t go away completely.

“You told me you wanted a normal life,” said Mr. Stark. “And I sent you to live with a group of the strangest people on the planet.”

“They’re not that bad,” said Peter, now that he thought about it. Now that they needed defending.

“For the record, I never doubted for a second you were capable of taking care of yourself, Pete,” said Mr. Stark. “But you shouldn’t have to. Take it from someone who learned it a little too late in life, you’re gonna need people around. No matter how old you get and how capable you are.”

Peter nodded. He knew it was true, knew it from the moment Mr. Stark had announced his presence in that dusty, dark apartment.

“Still, maybe we should make a change.”

“Really?” asked Peter. He frowned, then wondered why he was frowning at getting his own way. “You’ll let me live here? On my own?”

“Uh, no,” said Mr. Stark. “I thought you might like it better at the penthouse, with me and Pep. You know, less hovering, only two people to argue about groundings, all that good stuff.”

The suggestion took him by surprise, and at first, he hated it. Hated the idea that he would be one of three again, hated that he’d already had two families before and now he was working on his third. Hated that he’d spend the rest of his life scared that this one could be snatched away from him, just like the first two.

But then he breathed, and he realized it was easier, the pain lesser, because Mr. Stark had known him well enough to predict where he’d be.

“Pepper won’t mind?”

“Pete, she knew this was gonna happen before we did,” said Mr. Stark. He gave Peter’s shoulder another squeeze. Less awkward, more intentional. “You should just know in advance, I’m a lot smarter than those hacks living at the Tower so you’re gonna have to think harder next time you sneak out. Or try and come home trashed.”

“I almost threw up on my girlfriend tonight, Mr. Stark, trust me this is never going to happen again.”

“Funny you’d think getting stabbed would be the dealbreaker.”

Peter laughed, then stopped short when it caused the sharp pains in his stomachs to flair. “I really am sorry, ‘bout all this, how I acted. I just really miss them.”

“I know you do, you always will.”

His words weren’t magic. They didn’t take all the pain away, as easy as flipping a switch, but they were like the drugs Bruce arrived with just twenty minutes later. They were relief, they soothed, and brought Peter to a place where he could let his eyes slip shut. That he could rest knowing he had something like a home to wake up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! and thank you to frostysunflowers for listening to me ramble and complain about this fic and giving wonderful advice!! <3 also thank you to blondsak for being born <3 I hope your birthday week was AMAZING

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! the whump parts come tomorrrowwwww 
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated !!!
> 
> [come and scream at me on tumblr](https://hailing-stars.tumblr.com)


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